


Moonlighting

by decadent_mousse



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, Blow Jobs, Fine Dining, M/M, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:37:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decadent_mousse/pseuds/decadent_mousse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann has an important dinner meeting, but an unforeseen complication arises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlighting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patster223](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223/gifts).



> This started out as a fill for a nsfw prompt ("trying to go down on the other, under the table, during dinner") for patster223 and completely took off on it's own. It's set in an AU the two of us talk about from time to time. Basically all you need to know is that Hermann and Newt are thieves and Hermann's dad is a jerk. A really, really wealthy jerk.

It was a beautiful, moonlit Tuesday night and Hermann had spent the last forty minutes of it sitting in the back of a stuffy van feeling overdressed and, truthfully, a bit nervous while Newton enthusiastically devoured a ham sandwich.

“Newton, where did you get this van?”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re worried about.  This isn’t my first stakeout, y’know.  I’ve done this before, and when I do… this is what the van’s for.”

“This is not a stakeout.”

“It kinda is.  What do you think cops do when they sit around in vans gathering info?”

“Arrest criminals.  Like _us_ ,” Herman replied dryly.

Newton snorted.  “Well, yeah, okay.  Still, it’s basically the same thing.  Just sort of… flipped around.  Anyway, the van’s not stolen, is what I’m saying.  There’s not even that much of a paper trail attached to it, either, so if things go sideways, there won’t be anything to link us to it.”

“If things go ‘sideways,’ we’ll have far greater things to worry about than your dilapidated van.”

“It’s not _dilapidated_ , Hermann.  It’s vintage, okay?”

The effort it took not to roll his eyes almost caused him actual physical pain.  “Nevermind that,” he said.  “There’s a camera in my pocket.”

Newt put down his sandwich and wiggled his eyebrows.  “Oh, is _that_ what that is?  I thought you were just happy to see me.”

Hermann sighed deeply.  “Firstly, not _that_ pocket.  Secondly, would you _please_ at least make some attempt to keep your mind on the matter at hand?”

“Okay, okay,” Newton replied, holding his hands up defensively.  “Serious business, I get it.”

“Considering we’re on our way towards breaking into one of the most secure banks in the entire world, yes, I would say that it qualifies as ‘serious business.’”

The other man sat in the chair in front of the computer screen and waved at it.  “So the camera’s gonna feed into this, I’m assuming?”

“Yes, you’ll be able to see and hear everything that’s going on at that table.”

“Cool, so is there some carefully concealed earpiece, too?”

“No, there is not.”

“Then how are _you_ gonna hear _me_?”

“I won’t,” he said, a bit sharply.  “This is going to be difficult enough without you chattering  in my ear.”

He blinked at him for a moment before breaking into a grin.  “You’re nervous!”

“Newton, I am about to walk into that restaurant and meet with one of my father’s colleagues, at which point I am going to lie to his face and pray that it’s convincing enough.  So _yes_ , I am somewhat nervous.”

“Your tie’s crooked.”

Hermann glanced downward.  It was.

“I’m sure glad you’re only ‘somewhat’ nervous, dude.  I’d hate to see what happens when you’re _really_ nervous.  C’mere.”  Hermann approached him, and Newt gently undid the knot of the tie and went about tying it properly.  “Can’t have you looking unprofessional in front of the manager of the largest bank in the country, right?”

He took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling of Newt’s probably-stolen van.  

Newton leaned forward and kissed him softly.  “Relax.  You’ve totally got this.”

~

Hermann wasn’t the sort of person who believed in things like fate, but there was something oddly fitting about meeting Mr. Zimmerman at the same restaurant in which he had told his father – in no uncertain terms – that he never wanted to see or speak to him again.  That had been nearly a decade ago, and Hermann hadn’t set foot there since then.  He hadn’t particularly missed it.

He felt uncomfortable from the moment he walked in, but comfort was a luxury he couldn’t afford tonight.  He had to keep his mind on the task at hand, because if this went poorly their plan would be ruined – to say nothing of the last tattered shreds of his credibility in his father’s social circles.  If it went _very_ poorly, it was possible he could end up in prison, which was not a prospect that appealed to him in the slightest.

It briefly occurred to him that this might not be a good idea.  Newton seemed confident in its success, but Newton wasn’t the one putting himself on the line, and he wouldn’t be the one to suffer the brunt of the consequences if they failed.

He shook his head.  That was instinct born of a decade of working alone talking, not what he actually believed.  He and Newton were partners now, and the decision to work together hadn’t been one either of them had made lightly, considering it was hard to know who to trust in a business like theirs.  He trusted Newton.  He wouldn’t have agreed to a high-risk plan like this in the first place if he didn’t.

It didn’t take him long to spot the person he was there to have dinner with.  They had met before, and though it had been many years ago, Hermann still recognized the man.  Apparently he recognized Hermann, too, because his face lit up when he saw him and he got out of his chair and stood.

“Mr. Gottlieb!  It’s been some time!  I haven’t seen you in five years.”

“Eight,” Hermann corrected, reached out to shake his hand.  

“How have you been?  I see your father from time to time, but he never mentions you.”

_Thank God for that,_ Hermann thought.  Otherwise this plan would never have worked.

Hermann settled into a chair.  “My father wants me to ensure that his and his partners’ interests are still being adequately protected at your company.”

“I assure that they are, Mr. Gottlieb.”

“Of course, and if were only up to me, that would be more than enough to convince me.  However you must understand that your assurances alone are not enough to ease my father’s concerns.  I was hoping to perhaps make my own assessment in-person.”

“That could certainly be arranged.  Would sometime next week be convenient for you – Thursday or Friday?  I could give you a full tour of our facilities personally.”

“Thursday would be excellent,” Hermann replied, trying not to sound too eager.  

Once that arrangement was settled, they went about ordering and eating dinner.  

He wanted nothing more than to just leave, but he had to keep up appearances.  The other man had no reason _not_ to trust his motives, but nonetheless he didn’t want to do anything that might seem suspicious in hindsight.  Come Friday night next week, the bank was going to be several hundreds of thousands dollars lighter, and any suspicious behavior that might go overlooked now might be remembered _then_. 

A couple minutes after they had both finished their respective meals, Mr. Zimmerman rose from his seat.  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment–”

“Yes, of course.”

The other man made a beeline towards the restrooms.  Once he was well out of earshot, Hermann let out a soft sigh of relief.  So far, things were going very smoothly.

“Hermann!”

Or, at least, they had been until a very familiar face came rushing toward him, leaving an extremely put-out looking maître d in his wake.  

“Newton!” he hissed.  “What do you think you’re _doing_?!”

“Dude, relax.  We’ve got time.  After a meal like that, that guy’s gonna be in the bathroom for awhile, trust me.”

“Oh, really?  I didn’t realize you were an expert on digestion.”

“I’m an expert when it comes to the three big F’s: food, felonies, and fu–”

“Do _not_.”

“My point is, if that guy comes out of there in less than five minutes, it’d be a miracle.”

“It’ll be miracle if this night is successful with your interference!”

“Interference?!  Whose idea was it to use your connections to get cozy with the management?”

“Yours!  And need I remind you–” Hermann forced himself to lower his voice when he noticed a couple people shooting furtive looks in their direction.  “Need I remind you that _because_ I am using those connections, if this plan fails _I_ will be the one left holding the metaphorical bag.”

“Oh, so you’re not worried about _us_ getting caught, you’re worried about _you_ getting caught.”

“Newton–”

Newt let out a loud frustrated sigh that startled a nearby elderly woman eating her salad.  “God, look, just _stop_ for a second.  I didn’t come in here to argue, I came in here to _tell_ you something, and the sooner you let me, the sooner I can get out of here and leave you to it, okay?”

Hermann cast his eyes heavenward and ended up looking right into one of the lights dangling from the ceiling, which did not help the headache that was beginning to form.  “Fine.  What?”

“Your dad’s moving the loot.”

His heart nearly stopped.  “He– _what_?!”

“Watching you eat wasn’t all that entertaining, so I was reading some, uh– news feeds… of the not exactly legal kind… while I was waiting for you to finish up.  Look, you need to scout out the bank tomorrow and then we need to hit that place hard and fast tomorrow night.”

“That’s absurd!  There’s no way we could possibly–”

“If we wait, it’s going to be _gone_ , Hermann!  What are we going to do then?!”

“Will you _please_ attempt to keep your voice down?!”

A few people were beginning to stare, and Hermann sincerely hoped to an outside observer it looked like he was having an argument with an irate lover and not his partner in crime, though technically Newton was both.

Newt took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.  “Look, if we wait until next week, it’ll be too late.  If you don’t _want_ to do it, I get it, I’m not gonna think less of you if you’re having cold feet.  I’m just saying, it’s now or never.  If we’re going to get in there, we’re going to have to do it tomorrow night.”

Hermann drummed his fingers on the table and considered this new information.  Breaking into the vault _tomorrow_ was far from ideal.  The plan had been to get in there sometime next week after carefully planning their course of action.  He wasn’t even scheduled to tour the bank until next Thursday.  It would take some convincing to have it rescheduled so much earlier.

Newton’s startled tone broke him from his thoughtful reverie.  “Oh, shit!”  

Before Hermann could protest – or even really fully process what was happening – Newt dove under the table.  The tablecloth fluttered wildly for a couple moments then stilled. 

“What are you–”

Then he saw Mr. Zimmerman exiting the bathroom and his blood ran cold.

“Act natural,” Newt whispered from somewhere in the vicinity of his feet.

“That’s easy for _you_ to say,” he hissed.

His heart pounded as Mr. Zimmerman approached and scooted back into his seat.  He didn’t seem to notice that there was something – _someone_ – under the table.

Hermann felt a hand brush across his ankle.  He nonchalantly reached under the table as though he were going to rub at his leg and swatted at Newton as fiercely as he was able to without drawing unwanted attention towards what was going on under the table.  When he heard a very soft laugh that hopefully went unnoticed by everyone, he resisted the urge to kick.  It would only call attention to what was going on down there and the absolute last thing he needed was for the bank manager to decide to look under the table.  Was Newton actively _trying_ to sabotage this job?

“I, er, was wondering if perhaps I could come by the bank tomorrow, instead.”

The bank manager blinked at him in surprise.  “That’s… rather soon, Mr. Gottlieb.  We’d be happy to have you, of course, but that’s very short notice.”

“Yes, I know, and I do apologize if it’s an inconvenience, but unfortunately I received a call regarding an urgent business matter while you were away.  I have to be on the first flight to Hong Kong the day after tomorrow.”

The bank manager stared at him thoughtfully and Hermann did his best to maintain a neutral expression.  He was used to doing reconnaissance from behind the safety of the computer screen – behind _anonymity_ – not face-to-face and certainly not to someone who _knew_ him, albeit it only indirectly.  He wasn’t used to putting on an act like this.  He wasn’t sure whether he was pushing too hard or not hard enough.

He felt a sudden, urgent tug on the leg of his pants.  

He straightened in his seat and did his best to look mildly annoyed, which wasn’t particularly difficult at this point.  “If it’s a problem, perhaps I should call my father.”  

It was a hollow threat, of course, but Mr. Zimmerman didn’t know that.  He blanched and shook his head vigorously.  “N-no, that won’t be necessary!  I’m– I’m sure we can arrange something.  Er, would eight am be convenient for you?”

“Eight am will be fine.”

“Well, then, I’ll make the arrangements.  I should probably get going.”  Mr. Zimmerman stood, looking harried.  “Have a good evening, Mr. Gottlieb.”

Hermann smiled and nodded, which was about all he could manage with Newt’s breath hot against the inside of his thigh.  Apparently that was good enough, because he smiled back, smoothed the front of his suit, and left the table – and soon after that, the restaurant.

“We should get out of here,” Hermann muttered with a sigh.

He felt Newton’s hands trail up his legs.  “What, don’t you want dessert?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Hermann felt what he strongly suspected was Newton’s face rub against his thigh and he nearly fell out of his chair.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Come on, Hermann, what do you _think_ I’m doing?”

“Why?”

“Why not?  I mean, I’m already down here.”

There were probably several flaws in that logic – chiefly among them the fact that they were in a highly populated _restaurant_ – but Hermann had a hard time focusing on any of that with Newton’s mouth trailing across his inseam.

He glanced around the restaurant furtively.  The couple of people who had seen Newt dive underneath the table in the first place had already left.  As far as anyone else knew, he was sitting at the table alone.  In theory, it could work – if they were both discreet.

~

When the waiter next came along, Hermann ordered a chiffon cake with strawberries and cream.  When it arrived, he did his best to act casual.  He had a cake, so he should eat it – or at least attempt to _look_ like he was.  Which was easily said than done.  No sooner had he put the first bite in his mouth did he feel Newton’s mouthing him through his pants again.  

A moment later, Newton unzipped Hermann’s trousers with a very audible zip.  

“Be _quiet_ down there.  We have to be discreet.”

“Get quieter pants, then,” Newt whispered.

He was about to retort when he felt Newton take him into his mouth.  Hermann swallowed heavily and was rather proud of himself for not choking on the damned cake.  A nearby patron glanced in his direction with a raised eyebrow.  He tried to keep himself calm and composed.

“It’s– it’s very good cake,” he explained.  It wasn’t a _lie_ – the cake was good, albeit not to an orgasmic extent.

The other man seemed to consider this and picked up his menu.  Hermann sighed in relief.  Or, rather, that had been his intent, but halfway through his sigh, Newton did _something_ with his tongue that was mostly likely illegal in several states and the sound that came out of his mouth was indecent and far too loud.  He managed to muffle it somewhat by pressing his fist against his mouth, but he could only hope that everyone nearby thought he was simply enjoying his cake – very, very much.  The cake he _was_ almost certainly going to end up choking on if he continued to eat it during this, but if he stopped eating it that would surely only arouse more suspicion.

Fork shaking in his hand, he took another bite.  Newton’s fingers dug into his thighs, kneading gently as he his mouth moved up and down Hermann’s length.  The movement started out slow and rhythmic, pleasant but not overwhelming – it was almost surprisingly easy to maintain a neutral expression, as long as he didn’t think too hard about where they were and how easy it would be to be caught.

Newt’s movements became faster and more erratic, and Hermann finally had to set his fork aside.  In what he hoped appeared to be a calm and casual manner, he picked up his napkin and managed to muffle the moan that spilled from his mouth as he came.

As luck would have it, a nearby waiter chose that exact moment to walk over to the table.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asked with a slight frown.

“Yes, ah– y-yes, I’m fine.  I just… sneezed.”

He felt Newt laughing silently against his trembling thigh and hoped the other man would attribute his flushed face to the aftermath of a sneeze and not the aftermath of– of _that_.  

“Would you like more wine?”

“Please.”

Newt snorted loudly and Hermann sniffled in an attempt to mask it.  If the waiter noticed anything amiss, he gave no indication.  He gave a polite nod and walked away, and Hermann leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

“Uh, is the coast clear?”

“Likely as clear as it’s going to get.  Unless you planned on staying there until closing time.”

“Nah, I’m already getting a kink in my neck as it is.”

Hermann cleared his throat, face heating.

With a soft rustling of tablecloth, Newton emerged out from under the table looking more disheveled than usual, face flushed and lips swollen.  Hermann heard a sharp gasp.  Across from them sat an old woman, holding a forkful of salad close to her mouth, staring wide-eyed at the two of them.  

Newt glanced over at her and grinned, “Hi.”

She made a strangled noise, eyes bulging further out of their sockets.

Newton cleared his throat and turned towards Hermann, pushing his glasses up from where they’d slid down his face during the… _events_.  He even had the decency to look a bit embarrassed with himself for getting caught – though not nearly as much as he should have been after giving someone a blowjob in a reservation-only restaurant in _public_.

He pointed at the cake.  “We should get a to-go box for that.”


End file.
